


A Kind of Christmas Carol

by indigo (indigo_angels)



Series: Mission Arc [10]
Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 18:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17647712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_angels/pseuds/indigo
Summary: It's Christmas on deployment and Hannibal's patience wears thin as his boys start acting up on him. A Christmas Carol meets Wonderful Life meets an old 'friend' of Face's... in February! It's a bit quirky, this one.Warnings for non-con, violence, general unpleasantness and references to possible attempted suicide. With a happy ending!





	A Kind of Christmas Carol

Hannibal could feel his temper rising with every step he took across the base back to his quarters; he had never been as embarrassed in all his life. He’d thought this little break would do his boys some good, they’d been working flat out for the last six weeks, thought they would appreciate a little down time and a chance for some R&R, but instead they seem to have used it as a chance to just run wild.   
  
He couldn’t believe that he had been hauled in front of the camp commander and asked to explain the antics of his unit – it was so humiliating. There certainly better be some good excuses coming his way once he caught up with his team... But not tonight. His head was thumping and his temper was just too frayed. It would wait until the morning and then, well, then he would see.   
  
Unfortunately, it was never to be. Hannibal swung open the door to his quarters and froze. Music was blaring out at an obscene level, no doubt contravening about another ten camp directives, and the three members of his team were currently rolling around on the floor in the middle of his tent wrapped in coloured streamers and paper chains.   
  
“Give it here, fools!”  
  
“Get the hell off it BA, this was _my_ idea, so I get to decide where it goes!”  
  
“It’s mine! I am the party commander, I get to command!”  
  
“Get off it!”  
  
“It’s mine!”  
  
“You’ve ripped them!”  
  
Hannibal’s temper suddenly burst, “ENOUGH!” he roared, loud enough to be heard over the Christmas music, “What in hell’s name is going on here?!”  
  
There was a beat of silence as a hand reached out of the melee on the floor and snapped off the CD player before three voices started up at once.  
  
“Boss! You’re early!”

  
“Hannibal, listen man, we can explain...”

  
“Hey, Bossman! You see Santa out there then?”  
  
But Hannibal really wasn’t in the mood. “Attention!” he shouted and there was a couple of minutes of mad scrambling and tearing of streamers before the three men stood in a reasonable imitation of attention, the odd stray paper chain hanging from a shoulder or an arm.  
  
He walked down the line in front of them, his eyes boring into each man as he stalked past, his irritation cranking up a notch with every second.  
  
“Don’t...” he hissed as he turned to stare at them. “Don’t insult me with your petty excuses and blatant lies!” he caught the quick glance that flew between Murdock and Face and it did little to improve his mood. “Whatever all _this_ is about,” he waved his hand expressively around his once tidy quarters, “can wait. I have more pressing things to talk to you about.”  
  
This time Face’s eyes flicked left to BA and once again Hannibal caught it. “Eyes front Lieutenant!” Face instantly complied, Hannibal’s tone and furious expression not allowing much room for dissent as he ploughed on. “You can start us off here by explaining why you have spent the last three days running an illegal _casino_ out of your quarters, conning good soldiers out of their hard earned pay!”   
  
The slightest impression of a wince flitted across the Lieutenant’s face before it was wiped clean again. He coughed nervously before offering, “There was no con, Hannibal, I beat them fair and square!”  
  
“Oh, please!” Hannibal scoffed as he turned his eyes to BA, “you wouldn’t know fair and square if it turned up to bite you on the ass! And you!” the Corporal met his CO’s stare with obvious trepidation in his eyes, “Beating up on security guards at the hangers! BA, what the _hell_ did you think you were playing at? I thought you understood those days were over! You toe the line or you ship out!” Shame washed over BA’s face but Hannibal had already moved back to Murdock.  
  
“And you Captain...” Murdock’s eyes were flicking around the room, alighting everywhere but on Hannibal’s face, a sure sign that he was stressed, “You stole, _stole!_ , a cargo plane and took it out on an unsanctioned flight! Do you have any idea how hard I have had to peddle to save you from a court martial?!”

 

Murdock’s eyes were wide and panicked and it was Face that answered on his behalf, “But surely, boss, it’s not stealing, not if we brought it back like we did?”  
  
“QUIET!” Hannibal rounded on him in a second. “Not stealing? Face, the army has rules that are meant to be followed! You don’t have the luxury of picking and choosing only the ones you are interested in!” Face let his eyes fall to the floor as Hannibal stepped back.  
  
“I am, quite frankly, disgusted in you men.” An uncomfortable silence fell. “I was embarrassed to be your CO tonight! Listening to General Grant as he listed everything you have been up to over this past week when we are _guests_ on this base. Guests! I thought you would enjoy staying here for Christmas, a few home comforts and all that. It seems I was wrong. Seems none of you can even be trusted to be in polite company at the minute. Too much time spent with camels in the desert, you are beginning to have the same manners! Appalling!”  
  
Three pairs of eyes stared morosely at the floor as Hannibal shook his head at them, “When I think of everything I went through to get you assigned to my unit, every one of you, and this is how you repay me? Insubordination and humiliation? Well, it’s just not good enough!”  
  
The heavy silence was back for a moment.

 

Hannibal had had a bad day, a very bad day, and at the end of the worst of weeks, the worst of months in fact. Their last mission had only just managed to scrape in under the category of ‘successful’, it had spent most of its time floating between ‘disaster’ and ‘complete and utter fucking fuck up’ as the four of them had toiled through it, a three-day milk run which had morphed into three weeks of almost-hell. Hannibal blamed himself for the shortcomings, the intel had been dodgy and he’d not thought to question it until it was too late to get anything better. Consequentially, his plan had been wonky, their progress slow and the entire experience exhausting and far, _far_ more dangerous than it should have ever been.

 

Hannibal took that failure heavily, and had been silently beating himself up over it ever since they’d returned. He knew he was the man with the plan, and the one the others replied on to keep them alive. Their success this time was due far less to his brilliance and far more to pure luck and that did not sit well with the Colonel. This Christmas stop-over was, in his way, an apology for the FUBAR they’d all endured and this perceived ungratefulness, added to Hannibal's searing guilt, left him with very little in the temper department and a tongue which was far looser, and harsher, than usual.    
  
“Well, I’ve just about had enough of this, boys!” he missed the flashing look of concern that flew between Face and BA. “I wish I hadn’t bothered with you all – wish I’d left you all right where I found you, not dirtied my hands with you all. Maybe then I would have a team I could be proud of instead of this shower!” He shook his head once more, disappointment written all over his face, oblivious to the shocked silence of his men. “Well you had better sort this mess out, I have had enough of the lot of you!” and with that he turned and stalked out of the tent.  
______________________

  
It was late and very dark but Hannibal didn’t care as he let his temper carry him away to the furthest corner of the base. It was only when he reached the fence that he stopped and, hanging onto the chain mail links, tried to get his breath back.   
  
“Tough night?”  
  
Hannibal turned on his heel and immediately found himself face to face with a man he recognised instantly, even though he seemed to be a little thin around the edges, a little transparent in places...  
  
“General Patton?”  
  
Patton smiled, “Well done, Smith! Many a man will dispute the evidence that is right in front of their eyes, just because they know it to be impossible!”  
  
Hannibal frowned, “And they would have a point sir, I mean after all, aren’t you...?”  
  
“Dead?”  
  
“Well, yes sir... dead?”  
  
Patton laughed, “Things like that don’t matter son! Not on Christmas Eve! Not when there are wishes to be had!”  
  
Hannibal’s frown deepened, “Wishes?” he wondered if he hadn’t fallen over somewhere on his walk, and dashed his brain to pieces.   
  
“Yes! Special Christmas wishes,” Patton’s wide smile was unnerving, “to be granted for those who really desire them!”  
  
“Me?” and this time Hannibal laughed, “I don’t think there is anything I would like to wish for, and I certainly don’t deserve anything, not after my last mission…”

   
Patton smiled at him, “But you already made your wish! Back in your quarters, you wished you had never selected those men for your team. You just need to say the word and that wish will be a reality.”

 

Hannibal narrowed his eyes. It would be that easy? One word and it would be as if he had never recruited those men? No more holding Face’s hand through his constant emotional crises, no more trying to coax Murdock into behaving in a sane and rational manner, no more covering for the fact that BA was an airborne Ranger who refused to fly? How much easier would this life be without all these issues? Without these men? And after all, this wasn’t real, this wasn’t true. If he hadn’t fallen over and knocked a concussion into his head then he’d definitely had a full breakdown brought on by the stress of trying to command the, frankly, uncommandable. What harm could a little wishful thinking do in those circumstances?   
  
He smiled at Patton, deciding to play along, “You’re on then, sir. You make that wish come true!”  
  
“Wait!” Suddenly there was another wispy wraith-like shape next to the indistinct form of General Patton and Hannibal’s eyes opened wide once more, “General Eisenhower?”  
  
The new shape smiled, “In the flesh son! Well,” his ghostly eyes flicked left to the folded arms of Patton, “not quite _flesh_ , but you know what I mean!”  
  
“What are you doing here, Ike?” Patton snapped as he glared back, “Here I am, trying to grant a Christmas wish and here you are, in the way!”   
  
Eisenhower ignored him and instead turned to Hannibal, leaning forward enough to make Hannibal take an uneasy step backwards. “Are you sure about this, son? You sure that this is the wish you really want? It’s a big one to make...”  
  
Hannibal nodded, none of this was real after all, but suddenly he found that couldn’t quite suppress the edges of doubt that were trying to cloud his mind.  
  
“He said yes,” Patton snapped, attempting to push Eisenhower out of the way even though his hands simply travelled right through the other man’s chest, “now clear off and let me make this wish come true! You can’t stop it now!”  
  
“No, I know,” Eisenhower cocked his head to one side as he considered Hannibal, “Only the colonel here can do that, but perhaps I can make him consider just a little bit more.”  
  
“Oh, for goodness sake!” Patton folded his arms again as Eisenhower turned to Hannibal.   
  
“You seem fairly set in your decisions there, Hannibal?” A nod in reply, “You won’t reconsider?” A shake of the head, “Well, as I said to Patton there, I can’t stop your wish, only you can do that, but I do have the power to let you see what will happen once you make that wish. Will you do that for me instead? Then you can make your wish safe in the knowledge that you have looked into it in depth. What do you say?”  
  
Hannibal sighed, since when were breakdowns or concussed dreams so complicated? He turned to Patton, though, who still had his arms folded and was tapping his foot impatiently, and then back to Eisenhower, just deciding to go along with the flow. “Okay, then General” he nodded, “You’re on.”  
  
He hardly had time to blink before the warm desert night was gone and in its place was a warm, centrally heated corridor. Hannibal looked up and down and found that he and Eisenhower were standing in a long, white, tiled corridor, rooms with plain doors slotted along its length at regular intervals and the distant sound of off-key carolling drifting around in the distance. Hannibal turned to his guide. “A hospital?” he queried, his stomach already knotted in anxiety.  
  
“Not exactly,” Eisenhower replied cryptically and nodded at one of the closed doors. Hannibal paused for just a moment and then walked to the door and peered in through the small observation window.   
  
It was some kind of day room, a large TV, an artificial Christmas tree, lots of comfy looking seats, all pushed back at the moment to make room for the mass of men standing loosely in the centre of the room singing along to a Christmas carol CD. Hannibal studied the scene in front of him carefully, he knew there must be a reason that Eisenhower had brought him here, and then he saw it.  
  
“Murdock...” he breathed as he made out his Captain in the midst of the carollers. Murdock was wearing pyjamas, as were most of the singers, and was joining in with great gusto, his voice clearly audible over the others.   
  
Hannibal turned back to Eisenhower, “Not a hospital then?”  
  
Eisenhower shook his head, “VA,” he explained.  
  
“Aah...” Hannibal turned back and watched as ‘Silent Night’ began. Murdock was right at the front, laughing and joking with a few of the other men, some of the staff, and looked to be having a great time. “Well, he seems to be happy enough, here.”  
  
Eisenhower frowned slightly although Hannibal couldn’t see over his shoulder, “This is 2008. Six years after you decided you didn’t want him for your unit. He’s been here ever since.”

 

“Right...” Hannibal’s frown was fleeting, six years…. “But he seems happy, yes?” his eyes were glued to his Captain, trying to read through the layers of expression.    
  
Eisenhower shrugged, waited in silence for a moment before prompting, “Shall we?”  
  
With one last glance at his Captain enjoying the carols, Hannibal stepped away from the door and into a dark garage.  
  
It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the change of light before he could just about make out the sight of a figure laid underneath a very distinctive black and red van.  
  
“It’s BA!” he hissed out of the side of his mouth to Eisenhower, “Won’t he see us standing here?”  
  
Eisenhower shook his head and replied in a voice of normal volume, “No. We are not really here. People in this reality can neither see nor hear us. And we cannot interact with their world at all. Here,” he pointed to a hammer laid on the floor at their feet, “pick that up.”  
  
Hannibal bent down and grabbed for the handle of the hammer, but his fingers went straight through it, much like Patten’s hands had earlier gone through Eisenhower’s chest. He turned back and frowned; his guide just shook his head, “No interaction at all,” he repeated.  
  
Hannibal’s attention was drawn back to BA as he slid out from under the van and started packing his tools away, talking to his girl as he did so, “There you go, baby, almost good as new. Now, didn’t I tell ya I’d get ya sorted?” he patted the side door as he walked on, right past Hannibal and Eisenhower, cleaning his hands on a rag as he went.  
  
“He seems happy too – must’ve repaired the van after Murdock flattened it...” Hannibal smiled at the memory and turned back to Eisenhower. “See General? I told you this was the right thing to do. Me and the boys would have been much better going our own separate ways after Mexico. I’ll keep my wish.”  
  
Eisenhower looked steadily at him. “You sure about that Colonel? Still got one more to check on?”  
  
Hannibal frowned, “Face?” Now, Face was a tricky one. Hannibal loved him, absolutely, reverently, sincerely, but sometimes he wished for a bit of space, had often wondered whether their relationship might not be better if they didn’t work together all the time, if they had something more akin to a traditional romantic relationship, without the added stress of Hannibal being his CO. Just because Face never made it into his unit didn’t mean that Hannibal didn’t look him up, that they didn’t fall in love, that they didn’t still have this incredible relationship. But he wasn’t going to verbalise all of that to his ghostly concussion/breakdown companion. “Oh, come on General,” he smiled instead, “that one will always land on his feet. Far too sharp to need me around him!”  
  
Eisenhower cocked his head, “You really believe that?” and Hannibal felt a sick swoop to his belly. “You don’t want to check?”  
  
Hannibal looked back at BA who was _happy_ , busy singing Mowtown songs while he cleaned up and thought of Murdock, _happy_ as he carolled with his friends, and then back at Eisenhower. “Oh, what the hell, why not?”  
  
And then they were moving on again.  
  
Hannibal knew he was back in the desert the second he took his first breath; there was something about the way the desert night smelled that he would never ever forget. They were alone, on the edges of a vast tent city that could only be an army base and he was just about to ask Eisenhower why they were here when a figure strode round the side of the tent and almost walked into them.  
  
Face was obviously in a hurry, and Hannibal tagged along behind him watching as he wound his way expertly through the maze of tents, never once breaking his stride. Hannibal was still furious with him over the whole casino business, but it was still good to see him, good to follow the familiar lines of his figure as he strode through the night. Within a couple of minutes, he ducked into a single tent standing off on its own slightly and Hannibal followed him in.   
  
The second Face flicked a lamp on in the corner of the tent, Hannibal spotted the two silver bars on his shoulder and whistled through his teeth to Eisenhower, biting down on the swirling anxiety in his gut as he did so. “See? He’s made Captain again, and held on to it this time. Told you he would cope just fine on his own.”  
  
Eisenhower looked sideways at him, “And that doesn’t bother you?”  
  
Hannibal couldn’t draw his eyes away from that familiar figure, suddenly not quite as familiar as he would have liked, as it pottered around the tent, “Of course not... why would it?” But he himself could feel a tension in his jaw that had not been there before and Eisenhower raised an eyebrow as he noted the slight flush to Hannibal’s cheeks. The swirling anxiety in Hannibal's gut intensified as an annoying little voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe he wasn’t quite as vital a part of Face’s life as he had once thought. “Come on,” he turned away from Face, the disappointment making him snappy, “Let’s go.”

 

They took a step forward and Hannibal, desperate to be back at the base and nearer his bunk, found himself back in the long white corridor where he had first seen Murdock and he frowned at Eisenhower, “I thought we were going back to Patton? Get my wish granted?”  
  
Eisenhower, however, frowned back, the lines clearly visible on his translucent face. “Hannibal. I really feel I need to say something here.”  
  
Hannibal pulled himself up to his not inconsiderable height and fixed General Eisenhower with a firm stare – he could always tell when there was a confrontation heading his way, and he’d really had enough of this game now.  
  
“I’ve watched you with interest, you know, followed your career closely, and I’ve always thought of you as a wise and careful man,” Hannibal maintained his blank expression, “a little unorthodox perhaps,” a smile pulled at the corner of the General’s mouth, “but a good leader. Effective. Good with his men. But this...” he gestured around at the corridor, “this ‘wish’. I think you are being idiotic.”  
  
Hannibal bristled. “You wanted me to see what would happen to my men had I not brought them on board and I have. They are all fine and happy and getting on _very_ well without me,” was that a slice of cold bitterness in his voice? “I looked like you told me to, and now I want to make my decision. What’s wrong with that?”  
  
Eisenhower sighed, “You _looked_ Hannibal, but you really didn’t _see_.”  
  
Hannibal shook his head again, “And what the hell is that supposed to mean? It’s a little late in the evening for cryptic clues.”  
  
“Nothing cryptic, you just need to _see_ Hannibal, open your eyes and really look this time.”  
  
“This time?”  
  
Eisenhower glanced at the clock on the wall. “I can give you another twenty minutes of my time, Colonel, and then you are really on your own, no way back. Come this way.”   
  
He headed down the corridor and Hannibal had noticed for the first time that the carolling had stopped. In fact the whole place was very quiet, almost like it was the middle of the night but it was hard to tell as the corridor was so brightly lit.   
  
They walked along until they came to a stairwell at the end and then headed down. Hannibal felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he and Eisenhower silently descended, but he couldn’t say why. Two flights down, they came out into another long white corridor and Eisenhower walked to another door with an observation window built into it, and stopped. Hannibal joined him.  
  
It was gloomy inside and Hannibal’s eyes took a moment to adjust. Just at the exact moment that he started to make sense of what he was seeing, a chilling scream came from the room beyond the glass and he pressed himself flush against the window. “Oh my God,” he breathed at Eisenhower, “that’s Murdock! What the hell are they doing to him?”  
  
Hannibal could see that his Captain was strapped to a chair, three or four orderlies surrounding him, banks of equipment all round the edges of the room.  
  
“Electric shock therapy,” Eisenhower explained.  
  
Hannibal looked around in alarm, “They can still do that?” Eisenhower nodded, “Does it help?” this time a noncommittal shrug.  
  
Hannibal turned back to the figure in the room as another scream split the air. “Can he leave here? If he wanted to?” he asked as he watched Murdock writhe on the chair once more.  
  
“In theory,” Eisenhower replied looking at his ghostly watch, “But we need to move on. Time is precious.”  
  
Hannibal nodded but found couldn’t tear his eyes away from Murdock as he screamed in the white room. He simply blinked, and then they were back in BA’s garage.  
  
The churning anxiety in his belly tripled, but he sighed in relief as his eyes ran around the room and he realised that everything was just as he had left it with BA finishing off cleaning his hands on a rag whilst softly singing an old Gladys Knight number under his breath. Hannibal turned to Eisenhower, about to express his relief, when the doors of the garage flew open and four men with guns burst in, riddling BA’s precious girl with bullet holes. BA flung himself to the ground and Hannibal almost did the same before Eisenhower grabbed his arm and forced him to remain standing, reminding him with his eyes that they were safe, no bullets could harm them from BA’s world.  
  
The deafening volley seemed to last for days before, at a signal from their leader, the men ceased firing and an eerie silence fell on the garage.  
  
“Baracus!” the leader yelled, “On your feet man!”  
  
And BA, looking mercifully unhurt, slowly climbed to his feet, watching the men warily with, what Hannibal recognised as, a fatalistic expression on his face.  
  
“So...” the gun toting front man took a step closer to BA, “Thought you’d run on us, eh, Baracus? Thought you’d dump your shipment and just take off?”  
  
“I was set up Raoul!” BA spat back at him, “You tipped them border guards off about me! They knew I was carrying some shit, they was waiting for me, man! Had no choice but to dump it!”  
  
Raoul put on an expression of false innocence, “Bosco! Now why would I do that? Why would I set up one of my own mules?”  
  
Hannibal turned to Eisenhower, fury in his eyes, “He’s running drugs again? BA? What the hell is he thinking of?!”  
  
“I’ll tell you why, man!” BA took a step closer, “’Cause you wanted me outta the picture right? ‘Cause with me gone, you get my girl here,” he patted the poor shot up van again and took another step forward, “And it means you free to move in on my little sister without me there to bust your face for even _thinking_ it!”   
  
Raoul narrowed his eyes, “Maybe, BA, maybe. Or perhaps I just thought it would be fun to watch you rot in jail for running when you always have such high and mighty morals! Seems a shame those morals didn’t last long when someone made a move on your family, hey?”  
  
“You lied to me!” BA hissed back, “You said if I did one more run you would leave her alone, but that’s not true is it? It’s always one more run, one more run! Never gonna end!”  
  
Sarcastic applause from Raoul filled the garage, “At last, Bosco. You always were dumb. But, see, now you’ve finally worked it out, you’re no good to me anymore. Or the boss. Better let him decided what to do with you. Boys!” Raoul snapped his fingers and his three henchmen closed in on BA; Hannibal automatically moved to his Corporal’s side, but knew he would be no use what so ever.   
  
The fight didn’t last too long. BA put up fierce resistance, but in the end they were too much for him. Hannibal could see the rusty hand to hand skills that _his_ BA spent so much time perfecting and it was only a matter of time before an elbow to the back of the neck brought the big guy down. Hannibal could only watch in despair as BA was hauled out of the garage and into the night.  
  
Another blink and they were back in Face’s quarters. His Lieutenant, he couldn’t think of him as a _Captain_ , was still there, changed out of his uniform but pacing around the tent, picking things up and putting them down and, Hannibal was surprised that he hadn’t noticed it last time, he was looking very nervous. On edge. His eyes kept flicking to the door and his hands kept tightening into fists and once Hannibal had finally noticed these tell tale signs in the man he knew so well, he felt his own anxiety exponentially rise.  
  
“What’s going on?” his whispered to his guide, not really expecting a reply, “Why is he so worried?” _Scared_ had been the word that Hannibal had wanted to use, Face was scared and Hannibal only knew that because he knew the man so absolutely well, but he couldn’t say it. How could he say it? It was like, if he verbalised it, it would make all this dream far too real. Instead, he just held on to his own terror and waited, feeling the writhing snakes in his belly intensify alongside Face’s own obvious anxiety.

 

They didn’t have to wait long. Within a minute of Hannibal’s arrival, the door to Face’s quarters flew inwards and a tall, stocky, red headed Colonel walked in. Hannibal’s heart stuttered uncomfortably in his chest and his fists clenched at his sides, Colonel Sol William Sanders, the man that Hannibal had thought Face was free from many years ago.  
  
Face immediately stopped what he was doing and stood to attention, but Hannibal didn’t miss him taking a step back, leaning up against the desk and putting as much space between himself and the Colonel as possible and Hannibal took a step in, his heart pounding in his chest, he didn’t like this one little bit.  
  
“You finished that filing, Peck? I didn’t remember saying that you could go.”  
  
“Yes, sir, it’s finished.”Hannibal’s hackles rose at the tone to Face’s voice. What was lurking in there? Something he didn’t like at all... Fear? More than fear…  
  
“Good...” Sanders’ voice had that smarmy edge to it that Hannibal had most despised. He had almost forgotten how much he hated this man, how much he hated what he had done to Face back in their own reality. But here, in this reality, he was still in the army, still free to do as he liked, hadn’t crossed Hannibal Smith in this reality. And why would he? If Face had never come to Hannibal’s unit, how would he have ever found out how vile the man really was? And if Face had never come into his unit – how would he have ever found out how incredible _he_ really was? And how would he have ever known to make a move on him? Start their incredible journey together? He went cold all over as he suddenly realised what the implications of all this could be...  
  
Sanders took another step towards Face, “I was wondering whether you had disappeared early on purpose? Whether you had _forgotten_ it was Christmas Eve and I was having my little party?”  
  
Face, eyes wide, shook his head and Sanders smiled back at him, “Excellent! We are all really looking forward to it. My guests cannot wait to get _stuck in_ to their _gift_.”  
  
Hannibal looked on in confusion as the blood drained from Face’s features while Sanders just laughed. Then silence fell as Sanders, ugly leer on his face, just stared at Face until Face acquiesced and looked down at the floor. “So,” Sanders said, the leer now triumphant as he took another step in, “Eight o’clock you need to be in my quarters for, and it’s only,” he glanced at his watch, “six fifteen now.” Face tried to take another step back against the desk, “So, I think that leaves us time for a quick aperitif, Peck, don’t you?”  
  
Face didn’t answer; but Hannibal breathed an anguished, “No…” as Sanders dropped his trousers and his shorts, freeing a swelling erection. No one moved.  
  
“Come on Peck,” Sanders hissed “You know the drill by now. On your fucking knees, whore…”  
  
Hannibal’s hands flew into his hair as Face dropped to his knees and Sanders wasted no time at all shoving himself all the way in.  
  
“Oh my God!” Hannibal breathed trying to back away but unable to tear his eyes off the scene in front of him. He turned to Eisenhower, “Make him stop!” This had happened before, Hannibal had known that it had happened before but he _stopped_ it, he’d _saved_ Face, rescued him from this life and allowed him to find himself, find his own life. How could it still be happening in this life?  
  
Eisenhower’s eyes were full of sorrow, but he only shook his head.  
  
“Oh, yessss...” Sanders’ voice pulled Hannibal’s eyes back to Face and he watched in detached horror as the Colonel fucked Face’s mouth without care or consideration. His pudgy fingers had handfuls of that beautiful caramel hair that Hannibal always loved to stroke and he used it to hold Face still while ramming his cock right down his throat.  
  
“Ohhh, “ he moaned again, “I’m so glad I got you this nice big tent right out the way here, means I can make as much noise as I like while I fuck your clever little mouth and no one will hear us... Just the way you like it eh, Peck?”   
  
Face didn’t respond. His eyes were shut tight and his hands limp on his thighs but Hannibal could see very real tears running down the sides of his face.   
  
Then Sanders shoved in just that little bit too far and Face started to cough and to wretch and his hands came up and pushed the Colonel away from him.  
  
“Fucking hell!” Sanders exploded, pulling himself from Face’s mouth and backhanding him brutally across the face, “Watch where you put your fucking teeth, Peck!”  
  
Face fell backwards onto the floor, blood seeping from the corner of his mouth and just looked up at Sanders with wet, fear filled eyes. Hannibal took a step in, taking a protective stance over him, his own hands curled into tight fists.  
  
“You useless pile of shite!” Sanders hissed and spat at him, “Can’t even give head properly! Useless fag! Get on your fucking feet!”  
  
Face struggled to stand but wasn’t quite fast enough for Sanders who kicked him hard in the kidneys before yelling again, “On your feet!”   
  
Hannibal tried to move in once more, putting himself between Sanders and his fallen Lieutenant, but it was no use and Sanders kicked Face in the thigh even as he used the table to haul himself onto his feet. “Right...” Sanders hissed as he pushed his trousers further down his thighs, “You can’t do a blow job properly, then I’ll have to get off another way. Drop ‘em and get over that desk!”  
  
“No, no, no...” Hannibal moaned, “Don’t you fucking _touch_ him!”  
  
But of course no one could hear him and Face did as he was ordered, shoving his combats and his underwear down his legs and bending over the heavy wooden desk. With a sick swoop to his stomach, Hannibal suddenly realised why that particular piece of furniture was in here.  
  
Sanders entered him dry, only the remains of Face’s saliva to help him in and Face couldn’t help but cry out in pain. Hannibal cried out with him and paced round the desk, his hands in impotent fists at his sides.  
  
It didn’t last long. Within two minutes Sanders had emptied himself, his cow-like moan echoing around the tent as he pulled out leaving Face sprawled across the desk, his eyes closed and his chest heaving. Sanders leant forwards and cleaned his spent dick on the back of Face’s t-shirt, leaving traces of semen and blood on the baby blue fabric.  
  
“Eight o’clock, Peck,” he hissed as he rearranged his clothing, “Don’t be fucking late.” Face didn’t move or respond and Sanders chuckled as he fastened his belt. “No smart reply, eh? Good. I think you are finally learning. It’s only taken you six years to realise that I own you; that you are mine and you do as I say. Given up waiting to be rescued then have you? About fucking time.” He smoothed back his hair, “And make sure you tidy yourself up. It’s Christmas Eve. My guests won’t want to fuck a fucking tramp!” Then he was gone.  
  
“Oh, Jesus Christ!” Hannibal crept over to the desk where Face still lay, “He’s passing him round, my boy, my beautiful boy. Jesus Christ!”  
  
Face slowly pushed himself onto his feet, wiping his eyes on the back of his hand and pulled his trousers back up, wincing as he did so.  
  
“Face...” Hannibal tried to reach out to him but his hand went straight through Face’s arm as he walked slowly over to the bed.  
  
Hannibal followed him feeling more useless and impotent than he ever had in his whole life.  
  
Face went to sit on the bed but frowned as he noticed the red smear on the back of his t-shirt. He ripped the offending article straight off and threw it across the tent, bending to reach another from his locker and pulling a horrified gasp from Hannibal’s lips as he did.   
  
“Jesus,” he breathed, “look, that bastard’s been cutting him!”  
  
Face’s back was indeed covered in neat criss-crossed cuts. Nothing random or violent about those marks, they were very deliberate, very slow, very neat, and very, very sick. Hannibal couldn’t tear his eyes away from the vandalism of his boy’s smooth, tanned flesh, but as Face bent forward to pick up the new t-shirt he had dropped on the floor, Hannibal found he had to hold back the urge to wretch.   
  
There, in the flesh of Face’s back were three initials carved with sick precision. S.W.S. Sol William Sanders. The fucking bastard had _branded_ him! Hannibal screamed wordlessly at the roof of the tent and knew that if it had been at all possible, ho would have killed Sanders there and then. How dare he? How _fucking_ dare he touch Hannibal’s boy like that?  
  
“Oh, kid, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry...”  
  
Face pulled the new t-shirt on over his scarred back and then dropped to his bed and sobbed; tearing Hannibal into pieces. He’d never seen Face like this, yes, he’d seen him cry; he’d seen him scared and vulnerable and insecure. But this was different. Face was broken, and Hannibal had never seen that before.  
  
Hannibal hovered over him, Eisenhower forgotten as he tried to offer some crumb of comfort in a way Face could feel or sense of anything, but nothing seemed to work.  
  
Eventually Face’s tears dried up and he straightened up again, eyes drifting to the clock. Seven forty five. Hannibal felt his throat tighten. Would he have to watch that as well? Who were Sanders’ ‘guests’? Would he have to watch as they also defiled his boy? He knew he just couldn’t.  
  
But Face it seemed had other ideas. He leaned forward towards the locker at the side of the bed and slid the drawer open taking out an M-9 hand gun. “Oh shit,” Hannibal breathed, “he’s going to shoot Sanders!”  
  
He flashed a glance at Eisenhower who remained as inscrutable as ever and then back to Face who was calmly checking the magazine and slotting it home.  
  
“We have to stop this!” Hannibal’s voice was shaking, “He’ll spend the rest of his life in prison, or end up on death row, either way he can’t do this, General, he can’t!” he sank to his knees in front of Face.  
  
Face took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Hannibal could see him willing himself into that calm state he needed to take a sniper shot. “Don’t do it, kid,” he whispered, “He’s not worth it. Don’t do it.”  
  
Then he opened his eyes and snapped the safety off the pistol.   
  
Hannibal’s mind jumped into gear at the same instant, “No, no, no!”  
  
Face lifted the gun and put it in his own mouth.   
  
“No!” Hannibal screamed, he turned to Eisenhower “You have to stop this! Stop this! He can’t do this, what the fuck is he thinking of!”  
  
He spun back to Face who still had the gun in his mouth as silent tears leaked from his closed eyes. “Tell someone kid! Fucking tell someone! Don’t let him do this to you! Tell someone!”  
  
“Who’s he going to tell?” It was the first time Eisenhower had spoken since they came back and Hannibal could hear the sadness in it. “He has no one.”  
  
“Please stop him!” Hannibal implored, “Please, don’t let him do this!”   
  
Eisenhower shook his head, “I told you. There’s nothing I can do.”  
  
And then it clicked. What had Eisenhower said earlier on? _Only the Colonel can stop this wish now._  
  
Hannibal turned his back on Face and leapt to his feet, “I don’t want it! Of course I don’t want it! Why would I want Murdock in that _place_? BA forced to run drugs just to protect his family? And Face like _this_?” He shook his head. “I don’t want that wish General! Make it stop, I want my men back! I want them back!”  
  
And then came the bang. It was so loud, coming quite unexpected and from right behind Hannibal, that it knocked him to the ground.  
  
Face… no! His mind let out a silent scream as he fell, landing hard in the sand and getting a face full of grit.  
  
Sand?

 

Grit?  
  
He looked up, not wanting to look behind him, not trusting to what he might see, and found himself back at the perimeter fence and totally alone. No Eisenhower. No Patton. He risked a glance over his shoulder, and no Face. Thank god.  
  
Another bang split the night air and the sky was lit with colour as shouts of ‘Happy Christmas!’ filled the camp.   
  
Midnight. Christmas Day.  
  
Hannibal struggled to his feet. He needed to see his boys.  
  
It took him four minutes to run back to his quarters and he burst in, making Murdock jump as the pilot was sweeping sand over towards the door.  
  
“Colonel! Sir! Sorry sir, we’ve not quite done yet, but-” he was frozen in his words as Hannibal grabbed Murdock’s head in his hands and tilted his face back to see his eyes.  
  
“You okay there, son?” the concern was obvious in Hannibal’s voice, “You feeling alright? Everything okay?”

 

“Y-y-yes, sir!” Murdock stammered, eyes flicking over to BA, “Are you?”

 

Hannibal didn’t respond but stalked over to BA, “Corporal! Good to see you!” He briefly hugged him then clapped him on the arm, “And you? Alright? The family as well? You spoke to them?”

 

BA traded a confused glance with Murdock, “Yes, sir, they are all fine. Spoke to them just this afternoon. Christmas call an’ all that.”

 

Hannibal beamed, “Great! Great, BA!”

 

“Come on guys! If Hannibal gets back and we haven’t-” Face came out of the bathroom carrying a whole pile of cleaning products and froze as he saw Hannibal standing right in front of him. He swallowed, “Colonel...”

 

Hannibal closed the gap between them in three long strides and gathered Face up in his arms, holding him so tightly against his chest that he could feel Face’s heart against his skin. Beating. Alive. Thank God.

 

Just as abruptly, he let go, spinning Face around and pulling his t-shirt up at the back, one hand reaching out to smooth across the warm flawless skin. Perfect. He felt himself click back together again and looked up to find his team starring at him in confusion in their eyes.

 

“Are _you_ okay Colonel?” Murdock asked tentatively.

 

Hannibal laughed, “Hell, yes boys! Merry Christmas!”

 

His three men traded glances, before Face stepped forward, his hand sliding into the pocket of his combats, drawing out a long, thin package.

 

“Well, yeah, boss, Merry Christmas! We got you something...”

 

Hannibal felt a lump in his throat as he reached out to take the package from Face. It was wrapped in a requisition order, but someone had drawn lots of coloured trees and Santas all over it. Murdock, Hannibal thought, smiling to himself. He carefully pulled away the wrapping and froze; it was a knife, but not just any knife, a Silver Trident, just like the one he had lost a few weeks back on an op. But this was a brand new one, perfectly weighted, black blade and leather sheath. He swallowed.

 

“Boys,” there was an edge to his voice that he couldn’t hide, “this is perfect... It must have cost you a fortune...” and he stopped, flicked his eyes up to Face. “Casino?”

 

Face smiled and shrugged, “Needed the money in a hurry, boss.”

 

Hannibal glanced over at Murdock, “And you’d need to travel to find one right?”

 

Murdock laughed, “You can get anywhere you need if you can borrow a bird!”

 

Hannibal’s eyes shifted to BA, “Have some trouble getting it back on the base, BA?”

 

BA had the decency to look a little shifty, “Yeah boss, them security guards wanted it for themselves!”

 

Shame flooded into Hannibal from all angles. It was for him, all the mess his boys had got into had been for him. And look what he had almost done in return. _That_ had been a close run thing. He saw them all watching him as he balanced the knife in his hand and he smiled at them all.

 

“Face? Open the best bottle of whisky you can find, kid. We need to celebrate.”

 

Face frowned as he walked over to Hannibal’s desk, “Celebrate, boss?”

 

“Yeah!“ Hannibal answered, throwing an arm around Murdock and BA’s shoulders, “It’s Christmas!”


End file.
